


The Color of Seduction

by unkissed



Series: The Color of Deception [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:19:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/pseuds/unkissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His eyes are the color of molten seduction when he gazes up at you and reduces you to a bundle of eager nerve endings.  “I’m charming enough.  I really don’t need lessons,” he says.  Then he kisses you right through the stretched cotton.  It’s a little kiss – not more than a peck.  But it holds so much promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Color of Seduction

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A stitch in time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2613653) by [ColorfulStabwound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound). 



> The stories in this series are getting progressively racy. We jumped from T all the way to E. Woo! I'm not tagging this with an underage warning because James is 17, a week shy of 18.
> 
> Much gratitude and credit goes out to my friend, muse, and partner in literary crime, ColorfulStabwound. 
> 
> The stories in The Color of Deception series are all sequential and related, so you should really go back and read the others if you haven't done so already. This series is also being written in tandem with ColorfulStabwound's series The Chronicles of James and Teddy, which you should also read, since much of that series inspired this series, and vice versa.
> 
> For James, who is charming enough.

It is a week prior to winter holidays when Interim Headmistress Oglvie drops a bomb on you. 

 

“I’m terribly sorry, Professor Lupin,” she says, not sounding the least bit regretful, “but as the staff member with the least tenure, I’m afraid this job falls upon you this year. I had planned on staying, but with Headmaster Oglvie still recovering from hip surgery, my attention is needed at home.”

 

You’d been counting down the days to your much-needed break from school, looking forward to putting lesson plans and essay papers behind you.  You didn’t have any concrete plans other than lounging around Gran’s doing a whole lot of blissful nothing. But it is still a terrible disappointment to find out that you’d be staying at Hogwarts for the two-week winter recess to supervise the small handful of students who’d be remaining.

 

Jamie is perhaps even more disappointed than you to hear this news when you call him into your office after Transfiguration class.

 

“Two weeks?  I won’t see you for two whole weeks?” he asks indignantly, as if it had been a calculated affront against him.  He crosses his arms and glares at you from the other side of your desk.

 

You heave a long sigh and ruffle your turquoise curls the way you do when you’re tired in every sense of the word. “It might be good for us to take a little breather. Things are moving rather fast, don’t you think?”  You’re asking him more to try to convince yourself rather than to convince him.

 

He smirks and moves to your side of the desk. “Not fast enough.” He sits across your lap and folds his arms around your neck. 

 

Your whole body momentarily goes rigid because it’s the middle of the school day and you’ve never taken a risk like this. But the door between your classroom and your office is locked, you have some time between lessons, and Jamie is really bloody good at kissing.  So you allow yourself to relax enough to let Jamie have his way with you. He makes it easy for you to disregard the world outside.  You forget what day and time it is when his lips are working their magic on yours. You could be kissing for mere seconds or several blissful minutes – you’re not quite sure, and you are too caught up in his arms and in his mouth to check the time.

 

When you come up for air, Jamie repositions himself in the chair to straddle you, and you make a half-arsed attempt at responsibility. “Don’t you have to be in Charms right now?” you mumble breathlessly against his mouth.

 

He shifts in your lap to glance at the pocket watch that you’d set on your office desk, and the incidental friction sends a shudder of pleasure though you.  You know Jamie well, and nothing is ever an accident.

 

He folds himself around you again, and by the weight and heat of him bearing down on your thighs, you know you are in big trouble. “It’s Thursday,” he says around a slow, wet kiss, “I don’t have to be anywhere until eleven.”

 

You haven’t the heart to tell him it’s Friday. Apparently, you’re not the only one who is prone to kissing-induced memory loss.

 

“I’m teaching fourth year Hufflepuffs at eleven,” you say, more as a reminder to yourself than a deterrent.

 

He shifts again and your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head behind your closed lids.  He turns to shoot a lock reinforcement spell at the door and you’re glad he hadn’t witnessed how easily you had succumbed to him – Jamie is cocky enough without knowing exactly what he does to you.

 

“I could do a lot of damage in thirty minutes,” he drawls smoothly, this time moving in your lap with purpose.

 

By now, he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, because it’s painfully obvious by the pink tinge spreading through your hair. “I am so going to get fired,” you groan quietly to yourself, resigned hopelessly to this fact, as Jamie slips off your lap and disappears beneath your desk.

You’ve fantasized about this exact scenario, but in your exaggerated fantasies, Jamie calls you _Professor_ a lot and his school robes are half undone.   By the calculated way that Jamie moves, you suspect he has dreamed of this too.  He’s regarding you with a mischievous smirk as he’s slowly palming the growing bulge in your trousers.  By the time he’s got your zipper down, there is very little room for reason in your addled mind, but there’s just enough to make you hesitate.

 

“Jamie, there’s something you should know,” you say, trying to be responsible, but going about it in the most roundabout way possible. Because it’s terribly difficult to think when you’ve got a midday hard-on and Jamie on his knees eager to do something about it.

 

“Let me guess.  You’ve wanted this for ages?  You’ve got a huge cock and you’re afraid you’ll choke me?”  He manages to be smug and funny and ridiculous all at the same time, and it makes you love him for all his smart-mouth arrogance.

 

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “No.”  And then you flash a little knowing grin because you can’t help yourself.  “I mean, maybe some of that’s true, but that’s not what I wanted to tell you.” You heave a resigned sigh because you know you really shouldn’t let things get any further. “It’s actually Friday,” you say flatly, “You have Charms in five minutes.”

 

But Jamie is undeterred.  “Fuck Charms,” he mumbles flippantly as he nuzzles his cheek against the tenting fabric of your underpants that’s protruding from your open trousers.

 

His eyes are the color of molten seduction when he gazes up at you and reduces you to a bundle of eager nerve endings. “I’m charming enough. I really don’t need lessons,” he says. Then he kisses you right through the stretched cotton.  It’s a little kiss – not more than a peck.  But it holds so much promise.

 

Unable to blink, lest you miss a second of your most outlandish fantasy being actualized, you heave a long, ragged exhale because you’d apparently been holding your breath.  “Jamie, we don’t have to do this _now_. It can wait until after classes, you know.”  Your words are saying one thing, but your body is saying _now now now, give me that beautiful mouth now._

 

Jamie simply smirks and says, “I know,” while his fingers hook into the waistband of your underpants and he frees your erection.

 

It’s almost comical how you spring forth from the confines of fabric.  But Jamie isn’t laughing in the least.  He’s drinking in the sight of you.  From the way he’s tilting his head curiously, you can tell that he had been conjuring this part of you in his mind for years, but had never thought he’d actually get to experience it. He slowly curls his fingers around the base and takes a single tentative stroke.

 

And that’s when you realize that Jamie is a complete novice in this realm. 

 

 

Well, not _complete_. You know that he’s no stranger to masturbation – he’s even sneakily dropped a naughty note or two on your desk while turning in his homework, regaling you with tales of self-worship and your influence on the intensity of his endeavors.  Just yesterday, you opened an intricately folded square of parchment after the Gryffindors left your classroom.

 

_You look so fucking hot today. Are you trying to kill me with that bloody waistcoat and your shirtsleeves rolled up? It is all your fault that I have to wank in the loo between classes, just so I don’t have to sit in Charms with a raging erection.  I’m going to think about you fucking me on the washroom sinks.  Just thought you should know._

_I love you, you sexy prat._

_\- Me_

 

 

You have written proof that Jamie has touched a cock before, albeit his own.  But you know that it doesn’t compare to the electric feeling of touching somebody else’s. You literally know first hand what it’s like to heft another man’s hardness in your palm – how it is both comfortingly familiar and excitingly alien.  You know the power you can wield over a man when you have his cock in your firm grasp, and the immaterial magic you conjure when you take him into your mouth.

 

You see the thrill of discovery shining in his eyes. You recognize the inherent apprehension that comes with inexperience, blossoming in pink shades across his face. And it makes you feel like a blushing teenage virgin all over again.

 

You cup his cheek in your hand and brush your thumb across his faintly freckled skin.  He’s so beautiful.  Despite the devious expression that would lead one to believe otherwise, you know that there’s an innocence about him – a quality of unmarred purity beneath all the peacock strutting.

 

“I mean it, Jamie,” you say softly, “If there’s a better time to do this, it can wait.  You don’t have to do it now just to impress me or anything. I love you no matter--,” but you don’t get to finish your thought because he licks a firm stripe along the underside of your hardness, never taking his eyes off yours, and the picture of innocence lost is enough to command every ounce of your attention. When he closes his mouth wetly over the head of your cock, you gasp quietly and involuntarily clench your fingers in his hair.

 

The gesture inadvertently coerces Jamie to take more of you into his mouth while his fingers move purposefully along your length. You don’t mean to be that arsehole who pulls hair when on the receiving end of impromptu oral sex – you are the sort of guy who sits back and leaves the reins firmly in the hands of the giver, regardless of what you want.  But it just feels so fucking slippery and hot and tight inside Jamie’s mouth that you can’t help holding on to his head and guiding him.  You both don’t have time to spare on leisurely exploration anyway.

 

You’d been fucking each other through your clothes for weeks now, frotting against each other under the cloak of shadows and behind locked doors, and you’d think you would be over the idea of taboo sex with your pseudo-brother.  But there is still a tiny lingering voice at the back of your head saying, _oh my gods – the boy you grew up with has your dick in his mouth_. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t marginally weird.  The whole situation is just the right amount of wrong to make it more unbearably hot than prohibitively immoral.

 

His eyelids flutter closed while he slides down the entirety of your wet length, and that’s when you begin to truly fall apart. You don’t want to think about the reason why he’s so adept for a novice because deep down you know it’s because the rumors were true that girls had been queuing up to suck him off since fourth year – he knows what to do because he knows how he fancies it, and it isn’t much different from how you like it.  And _oh gods_ , you _really_ like it.

 

On its own, Jamie’s mouth is a wonder to behold – the voluptuous shape of his bottom lip, the way his top lip forms a perpetual sensual pout, the heavenly softness of it, the way the corners easily curve into a smirk even with just the hint of a smile – you’ve spent a lot of time over the years trying not to admire his mouth, and countless hours over the past few weeks worshiping it with yours.  Jamie’s mouth on your cock is an entirely different story.

 

Just watching those beautiful lips gliding fluidly along turgid flesh would be enough to topple nations, and you find yourself surrendering everything to him.  The feel of his mouth working you up ensures that you are wrapped firmly around his finger – you would gladly give him anything to sustain this bliss – your heart, your soul, a well-deserved O in Transfiguration.

 

His head floats on the waves of your surging and falling ecstasy, bobbing slowly when he finds the perfect rhythm that makes you bite your lip to stifle your moans. He swathes his tongue lovingly around you and hollows his cheeks on every rise.  Every time he slowly twists around your cock head before sliding back down, it makes you visibly shiver. Whatever he can’t fit in his mouth, he covers solicitously with his hand. 

 

You’re precariously close when you give up all pretenses of being quiet and whimper, “Fucking hell, Jamie…”

 

His brow creases and the vibration of his own rapturous moan radiates through you, letting you know that he’s loving this every bit as much as you are. 

 

He pulls off to catch his breath and whispers hotly against the tip, grinning smugly, “Are you going to come for me, baby?”

 

Everything about that statement forces an earth-shattering orgasm out of you – the cockiness of his knowing smirk, the ragged seduction of his voice, the way he makes you feel like you are completely _his_ when he calls you _baby_ – you answer with a shuddering moan as you spill over his fist and christen his pretty mouth with your seed.

 

He’s only mildly startled, but he smiles anyway, infinitely pleased with his accomplishment.  He giggles while he licks his lips and marvels at the awkward mess you’ve made of you both.  A breathy, quiet laugh of your own escapes you – there’s something so surreal yet gorgeous about the fact that James Fucking Potter, Gryffindor extraordinaire, has your come in his hair.

 

You’re ridiculously in love with this boy, and you have to admire him for his audacity – he has just accomplished his first blow job under the most precarious circumstances, on a school professor, underneath his desk, while students are rushing to their classes in the corridors.

 

You open your mouth weakly to tell him you love him around a panting breath, but he clears his throat and says, “Are we done yet, professor?”

 

“Excuse me?” you furrow your brow at Jamie’s sudden change in tone.

 

“Are we done?” he repeats more impatiently. “It’s 10:35.  Class ended five minutes ago.  Not that I’m having such a miserable time doodling in the margins of my textbook while I should be highlighting passages.”  His cheek earns him plenty of giggles from his classmates, but your mind is still fuzzy from your daydream to properly reprimand him.

 

You blink rapidly as you’re yanked from your reverie and find yourself propping your head in your hands on your desk in the Transfiguration classroom.  Your entire class is staring at you expectantly, having just spent the last half of the lesson in silent reading.

 

You sit up abruptly and adjust the fedora on your head. “Er, yes.  Class dismissed.  Continue studying over the weekend.  Test on chapter five on Monday.”

 

Your students are quickly on their feet, and in the scuffle of books and quills and robes, you put on your best authoritative voice to say, “Mr. Potter, a word, please.”

 

He hefts his bag over his shoulder and struts towards your desk with an arrogant smirk as the rest of the class swiftly files out of the room.  “Don’t worry, Professor, I already read that chapter and highlighted it last night.”

 

You stand from your desk and abandon your hat on a pile of parchment.  “Yeah, I’m aware,” you say flatly, “You were in my room when you did it.”  You do that tired hair ruffling thing as you say, “Jamie, I hope you’re not using that smart mouth on your other professors. You really ought to set a better example as Head Boy.”

 

He rests his hands on your desk and leans forward to drawl quietly, “Don’t worry, Professor.  I wouldn’t dream of using my smart mouth on any other professor but you.” A devilish smirk spreads across his lips and it makes you weak in the knees.

 

You shake your head with amusement and laugh. You hazard to lean close to whisper, “What are you doing later?”

 

He dares to let his lips brush the shell of your ear when he answers softly, “Using my smart mouth on you, if you’ll let me.”

 

You bite your lip, but a soft groan still manages to escape you.  “Get to class, Potter.”

 

He grins smugly as he turns around and walks towards the door.  You call after him, “Detention in my office, Potter. Seven o’clock.”

 

“Yes _sir_ ,” he says over his shoulder, flashing you a little mischievous wink.

 

You sit back in your chair and replace your hat over your curls, which are undoubtedly tinged pink at the ends.

 


End file.
